


Some Days

by iskaen



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hypochondria, Shiro does not get paid enough for this, Sick Slav, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-16 16:12:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16498799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iskaen/pseuds/iskaen
Summary: For Nov(emeto)ber 2018 day 1: the boy who cried (wolf) sick





	Some Days

Freedom was so close, Shiro could practically taste it.

In a few hours, it would be over. He’d be able to take a real shower, sleep in his own bed, walk around _by himself —_

“Why do the Lions not have decontamination facilities? Going through decontamination _now_ would increase my chances of survival by 17.2 percent, as opposed to waiting until we board the Castle.”

— if he could just get through the last leg of this trip without strangling his passenger.

_Patience yields focus. Patience yields focus. Patience yields —_

“By my calculations, at the average rate of microbial growth under these conditions, my odds of serious infection increase by 4.6 percent per varga. Yours are even worse!”

Shiro took a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly. He’d stopped trying to reassure Slav days ago; he’d learned it made no difference. Slav was Slav. The best thing Shiro could do for both of them was try to ignore him.

Four months ago, by Shiro’s reckoning, Allura had received a message from a group of Cnidan physicists asking permission to study the Castle’s teleduv. They’d been theorizing about the possiblity of a wormhole drive for decades, apparently, and were practically vibrating with excitement at the chance to examine a working model. They had spent several weeks taking readings, studying schematics, and exploring the device itself under Coran’s close supervision. They explained that they hoped to be able to create a version that could function without an Altean alchemist. Whatever power Allura was channelling, they reasoned, there had to be another way to access it.

One month ago, the Cnidans had contacted Allura again, this time asking her about the engineer who’d designed the gravity generator for the Battle of Titans, in their words. They had a promising start, but they’d reached the limits of their knowledge of spacetime manipulation. Allura had dutifully passed the request along to Slav.

Three weeks ago, Slav had agreed to assist the Cnidans — but only if Shiro accompanied him as bodyguard. Shiro had raised every objection he could think of — politely — but Slav was adamant, and the ability to generate wormholes independently would be a desperately-needed game changer for the fledgling alliance.

Twelve days ago, Shiro had picked Slav up in the Black Lion and flown to Cnidas.

Eleven days and sixteen hours ago, he’d begun to seriously regret agreeing to this mission.

The area of Cnidas where the physicists were based was… well… “lush” would be putting it kindly. “Aggressively verdant” was closer to the truth. The lab complex was surrounded by deep, old-growth rainforest. Small local wildlife was everywhere, humming and flitting and darting. Larger creatures called raucously in the canopy and occasionally bellowed from deeper in the forest. Tiny pollinators swarmed the lamps at night, while their predators swooped in and out of the light. It made Shiro think of nature documentaries he’d watched as a kid.

The Cnidans claimed that the dense growth muffled the facility’s energy signature somewhat, but Slav had taken one look at the visuals and nearly refused to exit the Lion. The biodiversity and extremely favorable conditions for growth, he’d contended, were a perfect breeding ground for infectious diseases, parasites, novel toxins, and, of course, large predators. Shiro had half-facetiously threatened to carry him bodily off the ship — and Slav, to Shiro’s surprise and dismay, had agreed.

Which was how Shiro had found himself acting as Slav’s personal transport for the duration of their stay. Slav would swarm up Shiro without so much as a by-your-leave and drape himself across Shiro’s shoulders whenever he wanted to go somewhere. With five pairs of limbs and a prehensile tail, he was impossible to dislodge; so Shiro had grudgingly resigned himself to his fate. Being used as a mount was bad enough; but whenever Slav wasn’t distracted by his work with the Cnidan engineers, he kept up a running litany of things that might poison, infect, infest, or eat him. Every physical sensation, no matter how ordinary, became indisputable evidence that he had contracted some horrible tropical disease. By the third day, Shiro was starting to experience psychosomatic symptoms of imaginary illnesses from sheer exposure to Slav’s anxieties — and, he suspected, his own fraying nerves.

Knowing that was what they were didn’t make them any less unpleasant.

By the time their stay ended, Shiro had been itching to leave for days. Boarding the Black Lion wasn’t the relief it should have been, though, because they still had a few hours’ flight to a rendezvous point; and, well, Slav.

Who was still convinced he was probably dying of some exotic malady.

“I suspect that my core temperature is elevated, but I can’t be sure. I don’t suppose you have a measuring device?”

Shiro sighed. “In the first aid kit, left bulkhead compartment.” It was a bad idea to encourage him, probably; but then again maybe it would keep him occupied for a few minutes. He heard rummaging behind him, resisted the impulse to look — he really didn’t want to know — and immersed himself in sensor readings instead. It was easier to tune out Slav’s constant worrying when he had something to do. Besides, it wasn’t just numbers and charts: through their bond, Shiro could share a glimmer of what the Black Lion perceived with senses he had no names for. For her, what he saw as empty space was alive with energy and movement. It was beautiful in ways he’d never dreamed.

Something was off, though. It was just dawning on him that Slav had been quiet for several minutes, when —

“...Shiro?”

...That was new. Slav almost never addressed him directly by name, and his tone was wrong: strangely plaintive and… vulnerable?

Shiro turned to look over his shoulder, curious in spite of himself. The first aid kit was open and several items were scattered on the deck. A few feet away, Slav was hunched up for all the world like an inchworm, supporting his upper body on his top two pairs of arms, his tail curled up tightly around his haunches. Puzzled, Shiro mentally replayed the last few things Slav had said. Something about his hearts racing, and then…

_“I feel there is a 97.4 percent probabilty I will vomit.”_

Shiro’s eyes widened in alarm as he realized what that posture probably meant. “Wait, no —” He hurriedly twisted out of his seat, even though he wasn’t sure what he meant to do. It didn’t matter anyway; he’d barely taken a step when Slav made a noise so much like a cat coughing up a hairball that Shiro had to shove down a hysterical and wholly inappropriate laugh at the surreality of it all. Slav retched(?) again; then, with a contraction that rolled visibly up his body, vomited a rush of lumpy, milky goo onto the deck plating.

To his credit, Shiro only froze for an instant before hurrying to kneel beside Slav. He reached out and then hesitated, hands hovering, uncertain whether he should touch, or where. Slav groaned and heaved up another surge of fluid - the smell was atrocious - and Shiro gave in to instinct and gently placed his flesh hand between Slav’s two uppermost sets of shoulders. Slav was trembling, but he didn’t flinch away; so Shiro rubbed slowly, experimentally. Slav seemed to relax, just a little; but almost immediately he convulsed again and expelled a smaller, thinner spill of vomit into the spreading puddle. What followed was unmistakably a dry heave, and Shiro winced in sympathy: as much as Slav seemed determined to test Shiro’s patience, it wasn’t like Shiro wanted to see him suffer.

Slav panted and shook for a few moments more, then backed unsteadily away from the mess and curled up into a shivering coil against the bulkhead, eyes shut and ears folded tight to his skull in misery. Shiro sat back on his heels and self-consciously rubbed the back of his neck, feeling suddenly awkward. “Um. D’you... want some water?”

 _“Please,”_ Slav rasped, in as close to a whisper as Shiro had ever heard him speak.

Shiro fetched a water packet and held it out as close to Slav’s face as he dared. Slav roused just enough to take in a mouthful and then hesitated, looking uncomfortable. There was a too-long pause, and then — _oh._ “Uh, you might as well…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely toward the mess on the deck. Slav’s ears twitched — _annoyed? embarrassed?_ — and then he gingerly uncurled enough to spit the fouled water into the puddle. He spat out the second mouthful as well, Shiro holding the packet within easy reach, before finally drinking a little and curling up again, still shivering. Shiro regarded him for a moment and then sighed. “There’s a bunk. You’d probably be more comfortable there.”

Slav made a low, miserable noise which Shiro took to mean something along the lines of _I don’t want to move._ The deck was cold, though, and there was the puddle of sick to deal with. “Do you want me to carry you?”

Slav shook his head minutely. After a few moments, he slowly raised himself up on all ten of his limbs, exhaustion evident in his movements. He crawled to Shiro and climbed up his armor, but only far enough to hold himself upright. Slowly, carefully, Shiro stood, wrapping his arm gently around Slav. He took a step, taking care not to jar Slav with the motion. Slav shakily moved with him, leaning heavily into his side.

Shiro supported Slav as well as he could, given that Slav was halfway to boneless at the moment; even so, Slav was noticeably flagging by the time they reached the small bunk tucked behind the flight deck. Slav promptly half-flopped, half-crawled onto the pad and squeezed himself into the corner of the alcove, curling up in the same tight coil as before. Shiro considered him for a moment, then pulled a blanket and a couple of pillows out of their storage compartment.

Acting on a hunch, he nudged Slav to move just enough that he could slip a pillow between Slav and each of the two bulkheads, then tucked the blanket as snugly as he could manage around the rest of him. Slav said nothing, but blinked up at Shiro, looking a little lost.

One corner of Shiro’s mouth quirked in a tiny, half-exasperated smile. “The head’s just through there, if you need it,” he said, pointing. Slav looked in that direction, nodded once, and settled his head on his tail with a tired sound, snuggling into the makeshift nest. He’d stopped shaking, at least.

Shiro sighed, shook his head ruefully, and went to fetch cleaning supplies.

**Author's Note:**

> the Slav sickfic no one asked for :P


End file.
